Christmas Keepsakes: 2018 Twelve Days of Christmas Challenge
by GalaxieGurl
Summary: Two small collection of holiday ornaments from Booth's and Brennan's respective childhoods gain significance through the years.
1. Chapter 1

Christmases Past

A small boy in Philadelphia watched eagerly as his mother placed the red metal kitchen stool carefully just inside the closet she shared with his father, pulled out the two steps folded beneath its plastic-upholstered seat, grasped its back and stepped up. Steadying herself, she reached for a box stored on the top shelf all year long. She lifted it carefully, and lowered herself to the floor, taking great care not to drop the cardboard box marked "Ornaments" which she placed on the nubby ivory bedspread covering their double bed. Lifting each flap of the box top, she motioned for him to scramble up onto the bed, to peer inside.

Each year ever since he could remember, on the first Saturday of December, he had 'helped' his mother decorate their home for Christmas. They'd set up the manger scene on the mantle over their fire place, amid pine boughs cut from the back yard. Several 3-candle electric light decorations would be placed on each window sill and plugged into the socket below. An artificial wreath, boasting a red velvet bow carefully straightened by his mother, would be hung on the front door. Various small character candles wrapped in foil would be opened and arranged on lamp tables, and shelves around their living room.

Once these items were set out just so, his mother would return the box to her bed and sitting down with her small son in her lap, she'd remove several ornaments, unwrap them from their tissue paper protection and tell him the story of how she'd acquired each one. A small metal bell had come from _her_ grandparents' tree, a miniature wooden jack in the box had belonged to her younger brother, a small tin painted Christmas tree had been her mother's favorite childhood decoration. A cluster of tiny silver bells tied together with a red ribbon had adorned the jewelry box containing a ring with which his father had proposed before leaving for Viet Nam. These four small trinkets meant Christmas to Seeley Booth.

A few years later, somewhere in Ohio, a little girl experienced the same gleeful joy when her parents got out their decorations to adorn a spindly Christmas tree Max had bought at the corner grocery store. Her brother, older than she, pretended to disdain this tradition, declaring he had outgrown decorating their tree while gulping the hot cocoa Christine always made, adding miniature marshmallows as she stirred.

A miniature plastic teddy bear, a wooden carved pine tree, painted green with small red spots, a plastic race car with tiny rubber wheels, a small stuffed Santa Claus dressed in red felt and white fur, with miniscule black vinyl boots carrying a crimson cotton sack over his shoulder; these little trinkets were her favorites to hang on the tree each year. After the lights were draped around the tree just so, and multi-colored shiny glass balls were carefully hung with small wire hooks, her parents allowed her to choose just where to add the unique little ornaments. Then her father would lift her in his arms, up and up, until she was high enough to place a tinfoil star over the spindly topmost coniferous branch pointing skyward. This ritual was Temperance Brennan's favorite way to start the Christmas holidays.

No one could foresee the future of these two children, or that of their families. The joys, sorrows, worries, virtues, vices, courage, missteps, or decisions, both beneficial and harmful the parents would make in the face of serious problems which would affect their children's lives for many years to come.

The small collections of ornaments which enchanted each of these youngsters would grow ever more meaningful as time passed by, season after season. For one, their significance would increase gradually as holiday celebrations came, year upon year. For the other, they would only exist as treasured but rarely acknowledged memories during a painful lonely period, but reappear as delightful surprises to link their owner with the past in a most unexpected way.


	2. Chapter 2

Inaugural Feast

It was 7:30 a.m. Having tied her belt, rubber her eyes, and finished off her coffee, Christine Booth frowned in frustration at the body before her. It wasn't a puzzling set of remains, and she wasn't in the Jeffersonian Medico-Legal Lab. It was merely an Organic Butterball turkey in her own kitchen. Nevertheless, the challenge she faced was just as important as discerning what had caused the death of their team's latest crime victim. It was preparing her first Christmas dinner for the Booth-Brennan clan. (She would have chuckled to herself about the similarity between her current aggravated musings and her mother's long ago analysis of a turkey's demise after hosting a dinner party for Booth, Angela, Hodgins, and Hannah Burley at one of the guests urging.) Christine had thought an 18-lb bird would provide ample meat for her family, but she swore she'd never again purchase a turkey this heavy. Placing it in the large roasting pan would've been fairly simple, but the task of wrestling this fowl into the Reynold's Brown-In Bag Angela had recommended was another matter indeed.

She had already spilled, splattered, and sprayed water all over her kitchen while rinsing off Tom Turkey, and cut her finger slicing the carrots, celery, and onions to place inside and around the bird to enhance its flavor. Now she realized she'd forgotten to turn on and pre-heat her oven. So she set the temperature, poured herself a cup of coffee, glared at the turkey, and sank into a kitchen chair to wait while the oven heat rose. Nevertheless, Christine was first and foremost her mother's child, and she would never admit her struggles to anyone. Little did she know that Brennan had fretted to Booth over that very subject, remembering her own early efforts learning her way around the kitchen. By the time she had delighted in Carly's Kitchen nutmeg macaroni and cheese recipe, Temperance Brennan had become an accomplished cook. But an adolescence spent in foster care lacked the loving culinary lessons Christine Brennan would have imparted amid laughter and hugs.

Glancing at her phone, Christine finished her coffee, rose to check the oven temperature, and prepared to do battle with the heavy pan and its occupant. Andrew was spending this holiday with his parents in West Virginia because his grandmother's health was declining. Despite her assuring him she could handle this dinner preparation on her own, she secretly regretted doing so, and missed not only his warm presence, but his strong able arms. As she hoisted the roaster into the oven, she knew he could have accomplished this task with ease.

Once the turkey was safely stowed in the oven, Christine set the kitchen timer, her phone, and her 'happy egg' buzzer for several hours hence, and walked to her bedroom to dress for the day….after a catnap.


	3. Chapter 3

BB Added Ornaments

The summer after Christine finished third grade Grandpa Max introduced her to the world of Harry Potter. Whenever she had a sleepover at his apartment during one of her parents' date nights, or the week he pinch-hit as babysitter while she had chicken pox, she'd sit right next to him as he read to her. Mindful of his daughter's concern that the later volumes were too dark for a young child, he didn't stray beyond the first two books. He took extra care explaining things during The Sorcerer's Stone, listening patiently to her questions, and often supplied vivid details from his own fruitful imagination.

Once they had relished The Chamber of Secrets, he began sharing stories from the later books, carefully edited to omit scenes like Bathilda Bagshot becoming Nagini in her dusty decrepit cottage bedroom. As he sparingly described Harry's visit to his parents' graves, Christine was captivated by the wreath of Christmas roses Hermoine conjured to place at the base of their headstones in the snow-covered grass.

Looking up at Max, she exclaimed, "That's like what we do for Great-Grand Pops and his friends on July 4th and Memorial Day, right?"

The Booth men had a long tradition of honoring heroic veterans at Arlington, Philadelphia National Cemetery, and other little graveyards where fellow comrades and friends were laid to rest. Edwin had taken his young sons to visit his fallen pilot buddies, and Hank's peanut butter sandwiches and Coca Cola toasts to James Rawlins were a yearly event. The year his little great-granddaughter graduated from creamy to chunky peanut butter had been a favorite milestone for the pair. So it wasn't surprising that Christine made an immediate connection with Harry's cemetery visit.

Max had to explain to Booth and Tempe why Christine was asking about Christmas roses in mid-July, but the agent was touched by his daughter's idea. So it was that a visit to Pops became a part of Booth's Christmas celebration. He and Christine would leave for Philadelphia early Saturday morning the first week of December, stopping first to select a wreath at Grams' favorite floral shop, Robertson's Flowers, now run by a great-granddaughter of the original proprietress. Christine insisted the garland they chose had to include Christmas roses. From there, they'd head to Resurrection Cemetery for a brief chat with Pops and Grams, a quick prayer, after brushing away dry brown leaves and twigs.

Cocoa and donuts were the next order of the day before hitting the highway back to DC. The main topic of discussion during their return trip was Mommy's Christmas gift. This carefully-considered object varied from year to year; sometimes purchased, sometimes made by determined little hands with help from dad. Ever since fourth grade had begun in September, Christine had known _exactly_ what to create. On neighborhood walks, she searched assiduously for the perfect stick, critically examining branches and twigs as seriously as her mother did with bones.

Once found, the fairly straight piece of wood was secreted at Max's house, preventing discovery by Momma or their occasional cleaning lady. She shared her idea with Grandpa rather than Dad, just to insure her secret was safe. Max suggested finding a second longer branch for Booth, and a little one for herself. Christine insisted they choose one for him as well.

Uncle Bugs was consulted by telephone regarding the best way to preserve the wands. Should they sand or varnish the wood, leave the bark intact or peel it away? Hodgins came over one Saturday afternoon in November to consult on this very serious decision. He presented the young artist with various options and ideas. Christine decided to peel one, leave one intact, and seal a third with ' _polythane'_ after a bit of sanding. Chuckling, the two men set about helping her.

Aunt Angela supplied lengths of velvet ribbon; red, forest green, royal blue, and copper gold. The winding and tying didn't go so well, so wider satin ribbon was tried instead. Much easier to tighten and smooth, this proved a perfect solution for personalizing each wand. Christine smiled with satisfaction at having done this part of her project independently. The miniature wands varied in length from three to six inches. Max helped her hot glue a ribbon loop to each one for hanging on the tree Christmas morning.

She found some long narrow boxes amid Max's gift wrapping supplies. Tissue paper proved easiest for concealing her gifts, with lots of tape for good measure. Her grandpa agreed to keep the packages at his place, since Booth was notorious for hunting his gifts in the weeks before Christmas. Christine had an inordinately difficult time waiting for her big 'reveal'

A few days after their initial visit, Booth was surprised to receive a phone call from Dorothy Robertson in Philly. Although he'd known her growing up, the two didn't have much contact as adults. The florist explained that she had told her grandmother about meeting Christine. The old lady was still an avid reader and had introduced her grandkids to Harry Potter's world. She realized why Christine wanted Christmas roses, and wanted to meet her the next time Booth returned to his hometown. He agreed to arrange a visit the following month, and regular visits between the two Harry Potter fans became a fixture of each trip to Philly.

Upon their Sunday return, while setting the table for dinner, Christine had described meeting Hazel Robertson to her mother in enthusiastic detail, including their discussion of Christmas roses. In typical Bones' fashion, Brennan had stopped stirring her Puttanesca sauce and carefully explained to her daughter that 'Christmas roses' weren't actually roses at all, but Helleborus niger, a plant native to Europe and Asia beloved by 17th century gardeners, which blooms through the winter around Christmastime, and is favored by Germans as much as the poinsettia is in America. In response, Christine had piped up that its relative species Helleborus orientalis, flowers in springtime and is 'called Lenten rose'. Over their daughter's head, Booth stopped making salad to smile at Brennan. Christine's botanical knowledge was constantly enriched by Jack Hodgins' spontaneous sharing of intriguing facts.

On Christmas morning as the gift-opening chaos wound down, Max winked at his granddaughter, announced he'd forgotten a package in the car, and headed for the front door to retrieve it.

"I'll help, Granpa!" the little girl responded, jumping to her feet to follow him outside.

"Chrissy, your coat-" Booth reminded the back of her head as the door swung shut. A needless admonition since they returned in minutes, ruddy-cheeked and grinning.

"These are for you, Momma, Daddy! Open 'em up!" Christine thrust the two boxes into her parents' hands, then reached for the third Max still held after they sat down again.

As paper and tissue were torn and pushed aside, she explained her gift and Max's help in the project.

"Uncle Bugs gave me a lot of great advice too!"

And thereafter, three small wands, as carefully hand-crafted as Ollivander's, adorned the Booth family Christmas tree each year until Christine took them to her own home decades later.


	4. Chapter 4

Christmas Across the Pond

Supervisory Special Agent Seeley Booth stretched his long legs, trying to find a more comfortable position in his airline seat. Despite the fact that they were flying first class at Brennan's insistence, which he grudgingly appreciated, the long flight from DC to London was still tediously tiring, and being restricted; confined to any chair, even a very well-padded one, was tough for an active guy like himself. He glanced over at his wife, who'd fallen asleep reading the latest _Anthropology Today_ journal. Even after 16 years of marriage and many more of partnership, she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. And the amazing fact she'd agreed to spend her life with him still took his breath away in gratitude.

He looked across the aisle at his children. Sixteen-year-old Christine was engrossed in a Harry Potter movie on her tablet; ear buds stuffed into her ears to obscure the engines' droning deep-throated roar. Eleven-year-old Hank was likewise electronically distracted from his surroundings, playing the latest installment of a Call of Duty or Kingdom Hearts video game. He wore a more substantial headset with a small mike attachment. On other occasions, Booth might have interrupted his children's absorption with digital images and tales, but for now he let them be. His kids hated inactivity as much as he did, and losing themselves in some fantasy world would more painlessly occupy their time until the aircraft landed at Heathrow.

Only one family member was missing. Parker was on a sabbatical studying in the UK with his wife, and occasionally joining Billy Gibbon's extended European band tour to play with Angela's father. Booth's eldest son had indulged his musical dreams for several years between earning his undergraduate degree and pursuing graduate school, and was an accomplished guitarist. The ZZ Top overlord had taken a liking to Parker years earlier and mentored his musical training when in town. Marianne Booth's dancing talents seemed to have morphed into gifted fingers for her eldest grandson. The young couple would join their family for Christmas and Boxing Day.

Learning of Parker's stint in England, Booth had suggested the possibility of a family visit to Brennan. Their good friend Inspector Cate Pritchard had come to the States a few years earlier for a police conference and spent a long weekend with them. It would be good to see her again. Liam, her son with Ian Wexler, was now at university in Oxford where his father had once taught, halfway through his undergraduate studies in forensic criminology, combining the investigative passions of his parents.

Booth leaned back against the soft leather upholstery and closed his eyes. The next two weeks would give his younger children a sense of their ancestry and an appreciation of the country which had given the world its Magna Carta. The agent privately considered himself a participant in the long tradition of Ango-American jurisprudence, protecting their citizenry from mayhem through adept policing, clever sleuthing, and fairly-dispensed justice. He knew Caroline Julian would explode with laughter if she ever heard his musings, and likely Temperance Brennan as well.

A long-misplaced but never forgotten ornament on the Christmas trees of Booth's childhood was a tiny metal replica of Big Ben, the Westminster Palace clock tower. Pops had brought it home to Grams after the war, and it hung amid the branches of their Douglas fir each year. Booth remembered the cool feel of its ribbed length the first time his grandfather had let him hold it.

There were a few small presents for Christmas morning secreted among Booth's and Brennan's suitcased clothing, but this trip was their family gift for this year. Angela had helped Booth research some history regarding Junius Brutus Booth, forebear of the famous theatrical family, who left England for America in 1821. He had winced upon learning that the man had left his wife in London, crossing the ocean with a mistress who eventually bore him ten children. Apparently Pops had judiciously omitted that dubious fact from the family history he told a young Seeley already aghast to learn he was related to Lincoln's assassin.

Angela shared privately with Hodgins her findings that Junius Booth was a two-timing Don Juan. Telling his wife he would be appearing in Shakespearean plays across the US for several years, Junius sent back money to support her and their young son which kept his dalliance secret for a few years. But several blackmailing relatives arrived demanding financial support to keep quiet about his burgeoning American family. Eventually in 1846 his now-enlightened wife arrived in America to call his bluff and divorced him in 1851. The bug man and his wife chuckled heartily over this sharp contrast between their staunchly faithful friend and his philandering ancestor. Their smiles faded as Angela mentioned Junius' alcoholism, which also plagued Vietnam pilot Edwin and Jared.

The Booth-Brennan clan enjoyed a memorable Christmas holiday, touring England, visiting with Cate, now head of Scotland Yard, and sharing a wonderful Christmas evening dinner at her comfortable London townhouse. Liam and Parker stood back to back, comparing their heights. As Booth admired her 9-foot tall Noble fir situated between a handsome walnut bookcase and a toasty brick fireplace, Cate reached up into its branches and retrieved several vintage ornaments from her own youth. Sharing the background of each, which her grandparents had given, which her parents had bought, some from Ian, a few Liam had made as a child, she noticed Booth growing quiet, and asked about his holiday traditions. Answering briefly, he told her how significant his grandparents had been in his life. As perceptive an investigator as Booth, Cate surmised there was much more to that story than the evening permitted.

With baggage limitations, each member of the family returned home with miniature keepsakes of their trip. Christine bought Westminster Abbey, Hank selected the London Eye, Brennan chose tiny replicas of the Radcliffe Camera and Ashmolean Museum; while Booth came away with Buckingham Palace, the Tower of London, and a tiny set of handcuffs and billy clubs presented by the bobbies he'd addressed during his previous visit. These trinkets would join the couple's treasured childhood ornament collection bedecking their Christmas tree each year.


	5. Chapter 5

December Sunday School Scribbles

A/N: Two afternoons before Christmas, one of our young adult real life kids tore 3 ankle ligaments (playing soccer on her old elementary school playground) which required casting, and triggered serious maternal concern/care so my Christmas stories may not be posted right on time. After 24 hours, a new second cast was required; the first was rubbing her ankle raw. A Definite Holiday Bummer!

Early December Sunday mornings at St. Matthew's Catholic Church in Washington D.C. meant a variety of things to the parishioners, depending upon their ages. For elementary school students, it was a time of frenetic activity during Sunday School classes each week. Not only did the teacher need to cover the theology lesson specified for that particular date, but the kids had to complete successive portions of their Advent season artwork gift projects to ultimately delight proud parents on Christmas morning. The last step was wrapping these gifts, which became more successful as the wrappers matured. Some early efforts were downright humorous on Christmas morning.

The volunteer catechism teachers had worked out a rotating schedule for each age group so that different items were presented from year to year. The added bonus of this was that if there were multiple children in a family, the parents would eventually have similar gifts from each child to privately compare, cherish, and publicly admire. Since Booth had attended St Matthew's ever since joining the Hoover FBI staff, Parker, Christine, and Hank each went through the same religious curriculum as they grew up.

From Parker's first crookedly-cut, green-scribbled simple isosceles triangle Christmas tree, to Hank's newly-completed cotton-ball trimmed, red construction paper Santa Claus figure kneeling at the manger, the agent treasured each one. And while Brennan didn't hold any belief in God, nor profess any religious affiliation, her maternal heart thrilled with each new addition to her children's Christmas art collection. When Hank's pre-school class began, she decided to purchase an artificial Christmas tree to allow plenty of room for displaying their child-made ornaments. Booth, of course, argued for a second live tree, but finally accepted her logic that coniferous sap and resin might damage their treasures.

As the young members of St. Matthew's congregation grew up, some began to regard Sunday School as babyish and boring, even as their teachers worked hard to keep them interested. But making Christmas gifts for their parents was one activity they never disdained. Some kids realized it saved them money, others enjoyed the crafts, still others saw the tradition they were creating. This latter group was smaller, mostly comprised of children who were middle or younger siblings like Christine. She noticed how proud her dad was of Parker's and her creations, knew he was sentimental about Christmas, and shared his exuberant love of the season.

Once the students reached middle school age, they spent more class time preparing for the Christmas program presented each year on the last Sunday of Advent. Songs and music were practiced, lines were learned, available costumes were examined and enhanced. Later on as high schoolers, the kids would herd and rehearse with little sheep and baby angels, and decorate the church. Some also helped teachers minimize spilled glue and glitter overflow from the little kids' artistic efforts.

With five years between them, Hank and Christine made Christmas gifts together for three years, when he was 4, 5, and 6; and she 9 to 11. His wobbly work was an adorable contrast to her more skillful creations. Being older, Parker treasured the Christmas mornings he was around to witness these gift presentations, remembering his own such activities while opening gifts with his father and the broad smiles and bear hugs they elicited.

By the time Hank finished grammar school, the ornament tree Brennan had suggested was nicely adorned each year, with ornaments spaced evenly upon its branches. She knew in years to come that grandchildren's offerings might begin to crowd the tree, but just as there was always space for more love in one's heart and guests at one's dinner table, a Christmas tree was never too full of lovingly-created childish decorations. If need be, she could display the 3-D ones and archive the flat ones, rotating them yearly.

Putting it up from year to year, she enjoyed regaling her children with stories of the art projects she and Russ had concocted at Christine's kitchen table all year long. Being on the run hiding from enemies unknown to their kids, Max and she had to make holidays special without the magic of grandparents and relatives. So they made salt crystal figures, drew intricate spirograph designs, colored on paper with markers and diffused the dye with sprayed water, spun watercolor or food dye pictures to spread the paint outward. Their science teacher dad had endless ideas for such projects, their mom supplied ample materials, and the formica kitchen table was easily cleaned afterwards.

Booth's such experiences were more limited to a few early years with his mother, and later once with Grams. Both parents reveled in the fact that their children never faced the jolts they had experienced as youngsters. As time went on, that Christmas ornament tree came to represent so much more than just construction paper, markers, and paste. It symbolizes the security, safety and love of family. It was a scrapbook of their 30, 40, and possibly 50 years together.


	6. Chapter 6

England Swings Like a Pendulum Do

One cold crisp afternoon in January, Booth pulled into their driveway after work, headed to the mailbox and opened its arched doorway. Inside he found the first tax forms needed before April 15th, miscellaneous bills, and a squishy foam-lined polyethylene pouch. He grinned to himself, knowing that Hank, Jr. would enjoy popping its individual protective cells. The noise drove both Brennan and him nuts, but their youngster took such delight in cracking them open, they'd just sigh and tell him to head to the garage where the racket would be slightly muffled by the kitchen door between dinner preparations and his glee.

He turned the package over to read the return address and smiled again. It had been sent by Cate Pritchard, his Scotland Yard counterpart. Curious, he felt the object hidden inside as best he could. It felt rectangular, long, slender, and hard from what he could discern, but the bubble wrap inside made drawing definitely conclusions quite difficult. If Cate had decided to tease him from 'across the pond', she was doing a great job of it! What on earth could the Inspector have decided to send? Although he resolved to wait for opening it until Brennan arrived home, Booth was as eager as his young son to examine the concealed contents of this mysterious pouch.

Placing the mail on the kitchen counter, Booth pulled a head of lettuce, spinach leaves, tomatoes, onions, and radishes, and a cold bottle of beer from the refrigerator, then opened a cabinet and drawer to extract a bamboo cutting board and two knives; one paring, one longer. He cracked open the beer bottle, took a swing, and set to preparing a salad for dinner. By the time he'd diced, sliced, chopped, peeled, quartered and cut the vegetables, it was 5:15 pm. He slid all the small pieces into a Spice of Life salad bowl Grams had once used, tore up the leaves of lettuce, and tossed the greens with balsamic vinaigrette dressing.

Placing the salad on the table, he set 4 places for his family. Wishing Parker was home, he returned to the fridge and took out a baked ham. Cutting several slices, he diced them as well and filled a separate bowl which joined its mate on the table. Brennan would never consent to ham in her salads, so he added the meat for his children and himself once she was served.

Once the garage door opener sprang to life, his wife pulled into her parking spot nearest the kitchen door, and gave the children permission to undo seatbelts and car seats. Her voice was the best thing he'd heard all day. The kids burst through the kitchen door, and attacked their father for bear hugs. Brennan followed behind them, her messenger bag slung across her shoulder. She smiled at Booth, exchanged a kiss, and admonished her offspring,

"Both of you, go back out to the car, and retrieve your backpacks and lunch kits, please."

"Yes, m'am." "Okay, Momma. Sorry."

What's in the mail, Booth? Did my renewal credit card arrive from Citibank? I'm tired of wrestling with the bent one; it should have arrived two days ago!"

"Oh, the usual, bills, income tax forms, 1099's….." Booth told her. "And this…."

He held up the polyethylene pouch. "It's from Cate Pritchard; go figure."

"Really? We just saw her a few weeks ago, wonder what it is?"

"My question exactly!" Booth replied. "And believe me, waiting for you three was hard. I was sorely tempted to rip into it all by myself, but I knew you'd want to help, Mr. Hank," he said, smiling at his son.

"Can I open it? Pleeaase? And can I have the poppy pack? They're so much fun!"

Christine rolled her eyes. "And so noisy and annoying!"

Yes, to both. You may open it now, and crunch it after dinner when your homework is completed, out in the garage, please," Booth told Hank.

"Both of you go wash up, and Chrissy, make sure he actually soaps his hands; not just run them under the tap!" Brennan said. "This salad looks delicious, Booth. It will pair well with the Hoppin' John Angela gave me at the Lab today. She made a triple batch, and served the staff at lunch. While I don't believe her assertion that consuming black-eyed peas today will bring us good luck through the coming year, these legumes are a healthy source of fiber and I do enjoy them. Cooked with ham and brown rice, they will make a nutritious and filling dinner for us."

"Bones, the kids hate black-eyed peas."

"They must eat at least three bites, and then I will relent, allowing them to eat the left-over veggie pizza from last evening."

Hank and Christine trooped back into the kitchen; the family sat down, and dug in. After swallowing several bites of Hoppin' John whole with dour expressions, the kids pled for pizza. Christine left the table and returned with the Blaze Pizza box. Hank looked expectantly at his father, silently asking permission to cut open Inspector Pritchard's pouch. Booth grinned and nodded. The boy retrieved a pair of scissors from the sideboard drawer, and cut carefully across one end of the small package. He turned it on end, and a small tissue-wrapped object fell out with a note.

"Dear Booth and Brennan,

I found this after you left London, and simply had to post it to you. I had looked for one like my grandfather gave to me when I was ten, but his favorite shop has quit business, and this was hard to come by. Amazon, however, came through again, and supplied my need. I'm sorry it's late, but I think you'll agree that it's very appropriately symbolic of your recent visit here. I hope you enjoy it for many years as I have mine. Best wishes to your entire family for a happy prosperous New Year.

Fondly as ever,

Cate Prichard, Insp."

Hank carefully unrolled the tissue paper and a small metal miniature Westminster Clock Tower slid onto the table, one face of Big Ben evident on the top-facing side.

Brennan exclaimed with delight, "What a perfect keepsake of our London trip, Booth! Did you know that when it was completed in 1859, Big Ben was the most accurate and largest four-faced chiming and striking clock in the world? Inspector Pritchard was right to persist in her search. This miniature is an excellent replica, with amazing detail. It even has a small wire hook, barely visitble, which will enable us to add it to our Christmas tree each year. The rest of the time, it will be safe in that Flyers memorabilia display case in your man cave, Booth."

"Can I take a look at it, Bones?"

Brennan handed the tiny clock tower across the table and placed it in Booth's open palm. He examined it carefully and found a little lever concealed just inside its hollow interior. Moving it slightly, he was rewarded with a melodious chiming.

"It plays the hourly bell progression!" he remarked in wonder. "How can they fit a recording in something so small?"

As the family listened, the little clock continued to chime, playing the Westminster Quarters, and a portion of the Cambridge Chimes melody.

"What a wonderful keepsake Cate has given us! We must call her as soon as dinner is over, Booth. That was an extremely thoughtful gift. What a considerate friend she is!"

Very true, Bones. If we place the call by 6 pm, it should be 11 pm in London, and Cate should still be up; a perfect idea!"

 **A/N: Mendenbar remarked in her review of a previous chapter that Big Ben would have been a fitting ornament for Booth to purchase while in London, and gave me the idea for this chapter. My thanks and credit to her! Its title comes from a 1965 country music song Roger Miller wrote and performed, entitled "** **England Swings** **(Like a Pendulum Do)".**


	7. Chapter 7

A Hard-Won Christmas Gift

 **A/N: Since RobinAngelena doesn't have a profile, I have to comment here, that yes, I remembered that song verse too. It popped into my head when I was trying to come up with a title for Story 6. Thanks for sharing; you have a good memory!**

Nine-year Hank Booth sat 'hunkered down' on an old crate in the back of his father's garage, his brow furrowed and the tip of his tongue protruding from his mouth, upper lip caught between his teeth. His great-grandfather would've recognized this posture and expression as a sign of intense concentration he'd often seen exhibited by Hank's grandfather Edwin as a boy. (Of course, reminiscing about Booth's father was not something Pops did aloud, due to the abuse his son had inflicted upon Shrimp and Jared. This horrible situation hurt the old man's heart for decades in ways he'd never express; guilt, worry, and deep sadness. The patriotic, daring, dedicated fighter pilot of whom he'd been so proud had fallen prey to PTSD, a soldier's torturous malady that existed long before effective treatments came about.)

At present, Hank, Sr. was observing Hank, Jr. from a comfortable cloud.

Little Hank, who'd recently begun protesting the infantile nature of this moniker, held a small block of pine in one hand and his Cub Scout knife in the other. His third grade Bear Cub Scout den had recently completed the Whittling Chip program, learning pocket knife safety and handling protocols. Personal and group safety was a constant concern of Pack 705's leaders, as with all Scouting mentors, and they stressed this to their young charges all the time. The ten boys in the Grizzly and Kodiak patrols were justly proud of their newly-awarded Whittling Chip badges and certification cards. Hank was especially pleased with his accomplishment, knowing that Pops had loved whittling and carved little trucks and what-nots for his wife and grandsons when time allowed.

Booth's younger son was trying mightily to create a Christmas gift for his father in secret, which was hard to do with his eagle-eyed mother around. Knowing his dad's love of Christmas trees, the boy was carving a small pine tree. He had shaped the rectangular pine block into a roughly triangular cone, and was carving small grooves, notches, and points to represent its evergreen foliage. Once done, he hoped to ask Hodgins for help inserting a peg at the bottom to serve as a trunk. Having worked on his project in ten- and fifteen-minute intervals as he raked up fall leaves before Brennan noticed his absence from the back yard, Hank was almost finished detailing his miniature tree.

He admired his handiwork and decided a few more cuts would make it just about perfect. (As perfect as an amateur whittler could achieve, anyway.) Far above, Hank, Sr. chuckled at his great-grandson's thoughts.

One or two more slices would just about do-"Ow! That really hurt!"

Hank grabbed his left index finger and applied quick pressure to the inadvertent incision he'd made. Applying extra pressure to get past a tiny knot in the wood, his knife had slipped and sliced flesh instead. Dismayed, Hank grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and wrapped his bleeding finger in the soft cotton. Sighing, he stood up and headed for the kitchen where his mom was stirring puttanesca sauce. As he opened the back door, she spoke while continuing to work.

"Did you finishing the raking, Hank?"

"Mom, I need some help."

Brennan quickly removed the spoon from the pot, turned down the heat, and turned to face her youngest child.

"You cut your finger on the rake?" she asked in amazement. How could this happen? She thought to herself.

"No, Mom, my pocket knife slipped."

"Henry Joseph Booth! What were you doing with a knife?"

"Mom, lemme explain," Hank pleaded. "I'm making a present for Dad. It's hard to keep a secret from him; he snoops through all the closets for gifts, worse than I did in kindergarten! I've been working on it in the garage; can I show you?"

"Come on, show me quickly before you bleed to death," Brennan answered drily, knowing this hyperbolic statement was more characteristic of her husband, who would whisk their children off to the emergency room in a panic if left to his own devices when they got hurt.

Hank laughed in spite of his discomfort.

"Hold your finger up by your face, Son, elevating it will lessen the bleeding and relieve that painful throbbing pressure you're feeling," his mother advised.

"First let me take a look at your cut," she added.

"No, Mom, first we gotta hide it before Dad gets home!" Hank protested. "It's almost finished and I can't have him seeing it now!"

"Hank," Brennan warned. "Give me your hand. Now." She reached into the cabinet for a small first aid kit, snapped it open, and took out several sterile gauze pads.

Reluctantly, Hank did as she asked. Unwrapping the blood-stained t-shirt, his mom took a quick glance at the cut, and re-applied pressure with the clean gauze to staunch the bleeding.

"Hold that in place, and let's go," she told him. The pair exited the kitchen, walked across the back patio, down the steps, and entered the tool shed portion of the garage.

"See, I'm carving a Christmas tree ornament for Dad, and I was almost done when I cut myself! I've got to put it away before he sees it!" Hank declared.

"Where is your hiding place?" his mother asked.

"In my tackle box. Since we don't fish in the winter, I figured it was the best place….Dad wouldn't be checking our gear again until spring."

"Smart thinking, Kiddo," Brennan smiled. "Your father will love your thoughtful gift, Hank. That's a very creative idea; this little tree will be a nice addition to his ornament collection. I'm sure he will treasure it in the future, but right now, we need to get your finger taken care of."

She picked up Hank's pen knife, closed it carefully, then reached for the small carved tree. Wrapping it in the scrap of flannel from Booth's old shirt her son had obviously been using for protection and concealment, she placed both items in Hank's tackle box and replaced it on the shelf alongside Booth's larger one.

"Okay, Daniel Boone, let's get you fixed up before Booth gets home!"

Back in the kitchen, Brennan checked her sauce, pulled steri-strips from the first aid kit, washed and peroxided Hank's finger, closed the cut snugly, and expertly applied a wide fabric Band-aid. Closing the kit, she discarded the bandage wrapper and picked up the gauze.

"Take off that t-shirt, Hank. We need to put it in the washer before your dad sees it."

Brennan moved to the sink, turned on the tap, and rinsed the gauze until the water ran clear. Then she pulled a page of the newspaper from their recycling bin, wrapped the gauze inside, and placed it in the trash. Once Hank had stripped off his t-shirt, she headed to the laundry room, soaked its hem with Shout, and started a load of bath towels waiting in the hamper. After the washer tub was filled with water, detergent and towels, she added the t-shirt, selected a cycle, closed the lid, pressed "Start" and returned to her sauce, which had thickened nicely.

By the time she'd started a pot of spaghetti to boil, Hank returned wearing a clean t-shirt. Brennan looked him in the eye, removed a clean water glass from the dishwasher, walked outside, and set it on the back porch.

"Normally, I do not condone lying for any reason. But, in this case, I will make a rare exception for you. If Booth asks what happened to your finger, tell your dad you ran into some glass while doing your chores out here. Pick up that glass, come back inside, and help me set the table, please."

Hank grinned at his mom, hugged her tightly and followed her back to the kitchen. "Mom, you're the best!"

"This will be our secret," she replied. "Now hurry up, Christine is due back from soccer practice, and your father will be home before long."

Six weeks later, on a frosty Christmas morning, Booth unwrapped an oddly-shaped, clumsily-wrapped gift his son handed him.

The small pine tree nestled in tissue paper had a small rounded peg for a trunk, and a thin wire loop hot-glued to its topmost tip. In black marker, Hank had laboriously written on the bottom of the tree, "To Dad, from Hank, Christmas 2024".

As Brennan predicted, it became one of Booth's most cherished Christmas keepsakes. Hank, Jr. was pleased as punch, and somewhere, Hank, Sr. bragged to his angelic buddies how fine his namesake was growing up.


	8. Chapter 8

Lending a Hand for Christmas

 **A/N: As some of you might have read in my reviews of other wonderful 2018 Christmas Challenge stories, one of our kids sustained 3 torn ankle ligaments just before Christmas, throwing a monkey wrench into my best intentions to acknowledge individually each reader's kind thoughtful comments about my drabble chapters here. So please know that each review has warmed my Christmas-loving heart, and made my days. Since my mom was born Dec. 25** **th,** **like Booth, this has always been my favorite time of year.**

To augment their parents' Christmas ornament collection, Christine and Hank had scheduled a Saturday morning trip to the Rockville Town Square the weekend before Thanksgiving. If they didn't find suitable gift items there, they planned to check out Montrose Crossing as well. The siblings hoped their purchases would convey how blessed and grateful they felt to have such wonderful parents. Getting to know Tyler, Isaiah, and Jordan Vaziri had made them all the more aware of that serendipity. After some serious discussion of caution and traffic laws, Booth and Brennan had granted Christine's request to drive there with her brother as 'precious cargo'.

She had earned her provisional driver's license six weeks earlier under Maryland's Rookie Driver Program, passing the test with 'a lot of color' as her parents declared with wide smiles at each other. That comment had greatly confused Christine until they explained the history of Brennan's long-ago comment about Gemma Arrington. The teenager had let it go as part of her parents' complex relationship, too pleased with her momentous success to care about ancient history.

The siblings started their quest at First Watch, discussing ideas over waffles and orange juice. No one could top their dad's chocolate chip pancakes, but the blueberry waffles were wonderful. It had been 'years' since both Booth kids had enjoyed grade school birthday parties at Color Me Mine Ceramics, but their fond memories surfaced today as gift inspiration. Thanking their waitress with an appropriate tip, the pair headed down the sidewalk, entered the studio, and perused the shelves of greenware. A flat rectangular plaque titled "Mistle-Toes" caught Christine's attention. She picked up the plaque and approached the store owner. Angela had helped create childhood foot and handprints in clay several times in the past, but their appendages were much larger now.

"Could you help my brother and me make Mistle-Toes plaques for our folks that wouldn't be gigantic?" she asked?

Hallie Ferguson considered her question. "Your hands and feet are obviously larger than these were designed for, but that's a lovely idea. Can you give me a few minutes to mull this through? Maybe consider what colors you'd like to use for your plaques."

A puzzled Hank stood watching his sister's conversation. When Mrs. Ferguson stepped away, he looked at her quizzically.

"Whatcha thinkin', Chris?"

"A plaque like those Auntie A used to make with us," Christine replied.

"How? We're so much bigger now!"

"That's what the owner is trying to figure out."

Mrs. Ferguson stood up from her small reception desk, and motioned them over.

"Instead of my Mistle-Toes plaque, what do you think of this design?" she asked, turning her computer monitor so they could view its screen display.

"This lady, Anita Harris, is a college classmate of mine; we both majored in art and roomed together. You wouldn't be able to leave my shop today with a finished product, but I believe her design would accomplish what you are wanting better than I could."

The 'RememberClay' website she had pulled up described the product. Customers make a mold of their hand or footprint, mail it back, and the artist transfers it to clay, kiln-fires and glazes the final creation which is shipped to their homes.

"Since Anita happens to live in Bethesda, you could bypass the shipping times if you delivered your molds and picked up the plaque when it's ready," Hallie Ferguson explained.

The siblings grinned at each other. "That's perfect!" Hank declared.

Christine's face fell. "But Mom and Dad will never let me drive that far, Hank! How do we keep it a secret?"

"Oh, good point," Hank agreed. "Bummer, Sis!"

"Anita and I have lunch quite often. I could play go-fer if you'll cover my gasoline," Hallie offered.

"Hank, what about Parker? Shouldn't we include him?" Christine asked suddenly.

"Parker?"

"Our older brother, well, half-brother, but we love each other just as much," Hank clarified.

"Does Parker live in the D.C. area?" Mrs. Ferguson asked.

Christine thought quickly, "Not usually, but Mom said he's delivering a speech at Walter Reed next week, and staying with us a few days. But how will we get the mold kits?"

Hallie chuckled. "You two must be living right. Anita's idea fascinated me, so I've been experimenting with my children as subjects. She gave me a dozen kits the last time we had lunch a few weeks ago. I'd be happy to sell you three of them today. Hopefully, you can find a time to mold your hand or foot when your parents aren't home."

"Which would work better, hands or feet? How would we arrange the prints?" Hank asked.

"You sound like a future engineer, young man," Hallie commented. "Anita will have some ideas; let me give her a call."

Pulling out her iPhone, the store owner consulted her friend. "She thinks you're on to something. Handprints will be shorter than feet, and could be stacked, if you will. Do you prefer imprints or raised prints?"

"Raised prints, if that works for Ms. Harris," Christine decided. "Let's call Parker and see what he thinks."

In the midst of writing his presentation, the eldest Booth child grinned to himself as he saw the phone number displayed on his computer. Activating its microphone, he answered.

"Hey, Chrissy-cakes, whazzup?"

Blushing a bit at his nickname for her, Christine quickly explained Mrs. Ferguson's proposal.

"Count me in! Dad and Bones will love it! My speech is Thursday evening, and I'm arriving Tuesday morning for some meetings, so we'll have plenty of time. My flight doesn't leave until Sunday; I wanted a few days to spend with you guys, since Meredith and I can't make it for Christmas. We're going to the UK, Boxing Day in Scotland!"

"Sounds cool, Parks!" Hank interjected.

"Tell the store owner "Good show!" and I'll talk to you two soon. Gotta get back to writing this speech; I don't want to be standing in front of Army medical brass with nothing to say! TTFN. TTYL, guys," Parker said before disconnecting the call.

"We can't thank you enough, Mrs. Ferguson. Parker is right, our parents will love this gift. It might be too heavy to hang on our Christmas tree with their ornament collections, but it will mean a lot to them wherever they display it," Christine said.

"I'll ask Anita to suggest some colors when I deliver the molds. If you used neutral shades, your parents could display it all year."

"Mom's favorite color is blue, and Dad is always going mushy over her eyes being a most unusual shade of azure, as Auntie A says," Hank remarked. "Maybe a muted blue, gray, and ivory would work?"

"That sounds appropriate and lovely; if the ivory is on top so it doesn't fade into the background," Hallie said. "Let me get the mold kits and if you'll give me your email, I can convey Anita's response. If you don't mind my sharing it with her, she can ask any questions she has while designing your plaque as well."

The Booth siblings had been so engrossed in their ornament planning, they hadn't looked outside. As they turned to leave the shop, Christine gasped in dismay. 

"Oh no, Hank! Look, it's sleeting!"

"Maybe you better call Dad," her brother thought aloud. "But tell him to meet us at First Watch, so we don't give away anything."

"Good call, Hank. Thank you again, Mrs. Ferguson. I think I can drop off the molds after school next week," Christine said.

Relieved that his daughter had the foresight to call before striking out in bad weather, Booth agreed to meet his children at the café. Since Christmas was approaching, he knew better than to ask what their shopping trip had entailed. His wife was upstairs, stripping their master bed linens.

"Bones, it's sleeting. We gotta go get the kids and give Chrissy a slick street driving lesson. If we both go, I can ride with her, and you can bring Hank home."

Brennan descended the stairway, her arms full of Egyptian cotton sheets and pillow cases.

"Dress warmly, Booth. You don't need another URI this season."

"Okay, Mom," he responded, kissing her soundly. "Let's go rescue our kids!"

Bbbbbbbbbbbb

Six weeks later as a Christmas sun set, Booth and Brennan sat in front of their amply- illuminated ornament-laden Noble fir and a dying fire 'amid packages, boxes, and bows' holding the letter-sized porcelain plaque. Parker's hand was gray, Hank's was ivory, and the smallest, Christine's, was light French blue. Her brothers' palms were larger than hers by a third, their fingers longer and stouter.

Brennan looked at her husband with tears sparkling in her eyes, almost the color on the plaque.

"They sure got it right this year, didn't they?" he asked her softly, with a gentle kiss on the forehead.

"Yes, and their choice of porcelain over greenware will be so much more durable over the years ahead," Brennan replied, kissing him back.


	9. Chapter 9

BB A Flyover State Christmas Story 9

 **A/N: This story idea required a bit of timeline tweaking, so please overlook the fact that Christine's age is completely AU from what we saw in 'The Archaeologist in the Cocoon' episode.**

Christine had graduated from Marshall University the previous spring, completing her B.S. degree in three years with forensic science and criminology majors. She hoped to attend medical school in preparation for investigative research, but wanted real-world experience first. Keen to obtain a job on her own, without the influence of her accomplished parents and friends, she was selected for an internship at the University of Oklahoma researching Caddoan societies in the Red River Valley. Once she arrived in Norman, her first assignment was compiling data from previous southeastern Oklahoma summer dig expeditions.

As in other locations, the Caddoan Mississipian people had built huge earthwork mounds near Spiro, an outpost of their culture from 850-1450. Their Craig Mound or Great Mortuary, 10 feet high and 15 feet wide, was built upon a circle of closely-placed cedar posts sunk into the earth at an angle so that their tips met forming a cone. Covered with successive layers of earth, it never collapsed. Minerals dispersed over time through the mound from rainfall hardened the log walls and formed a decay- resistant hollow space in which perishable artifacts were perfectly preserved.

Christine noticed trends and connections in the data she was examining, and her supervising professors soon realized their newest assistant was far more knowledgeable than most young people with whom they worked. It only took them a bit of investigation to ascertain why. Hanging around the lab, she had absorbed much of Uncle Bugs' botanic, entomologic, and mineral knowledge, and learned unconsciously from her mother, Angela, Cam, and Clark Edison. The OU archaeology faculty quickly decided to take greater advantage of Ms. Booth's talents and upgraded her to a paid research assistant. They felt she could be useful working with several current projects utilizing her unique awareness of fauna, geology, ceramics, and ancient social structures.

The surprised young woman was particularly pleased by this development. Ever since she'd watched Dr. Edison's presentation about the ill-fated mixed-species family rejected from both Homo sapiens and Neanderthal tribes, Christine had felt sorry for the completely neglected three-year old daughter starving to death. She was as fascinated as her mother by the ancient cultures of the past, and read every school and local library book she could find on the subject.

By November, her precise cataloguing and insightful organization of the Caddoan data proved helpful to several very grateful graduate students and doctoral candidates. It didn't take long for them to invite her for pizza or beer at the historic Campus Corner hangouts they loved. Her workload prevented a Christmas trip back to D.C. as she somewhat regretfully informed her parents. Despite Booth's scowling response to this news, Brennan noticed the quiet pride in her daughter's voice, and assured Christine they both understood. Once she broke their phone connection, the scientist gave her husband a significant glance.

"Booth, quit frowning! If Christine can't come to spend Christmas with us, we'll go spend it with her. Hank would benefit from seeing the sights we enjoyed during our Oklahoma City Memorial symposium, and Parker is staying in the UK to be with Meredith's family. Don't you think a change of scenery would be nice? Also the weather down there doesn't usually get cold until mid-January."

Booth's countenance brightened considering her suggestion. "If Mohamed can't come to the mountain, we'll just bring the mountain to him…."

"Booth! That's not a culturally sensitive nor appropriate expression!"

"Nonsense, Bones, I heard Arastoo use that saying just the other day," Booth retorted.

"Be that as it may, Arastoo can say what he likes, and may not take offense, but others might, and it isn't advisable in my opinion," Brennan replied.

Changing subjects as quickly as a weather vane, Booth burst out, "What if we surprised her? Let's check when the university closes and book a flight to OKC for that afternoon!"

Brennan smiled at his shifting mood, "I think she'd like that very much."

Bbbbbbbbbbbbb

When Angela learned of Booth's travel plans, she spoke to Jack about joining them. Commercial airline flights were always jammed during the holidays, and Hodgins still had access to a Cantilever jet not sold during the downsizing forced by Pelant. She broached her idea to Brennan the next morning sharing coffee in the lounge above the lab.

"Jack can reserve the jet for December 23rd through the 29th. One of our pilots has family in Texarkana he hasn't seen in a while, and would love to visit them. Michael Vincent doesn't know yet if he can join us, but Jeffrey will be off from soccer until Dec. 30th, so we're free to accompany you if you'd like."

"I don't want to take undue advantage of your generosity, but that would be a very nice alternative to congested airports and TSA lines!" Brennan agreed.

Three weeks later, a Cessna Citation landed at OU's Max Westheimer Airport. Hodgins had contacted Lance Lamkin, the University's Airport Administrator, who granted the jet access and agreed to secrecy. The group headed for an eclectic mid-century house Brennan had found on Airbnb, quite similar to their post-Mighty Hut home, adjacent to Sam Noble Museum of Natural History, and not far from Christine's Chautauqua Avenue rental house.

Brennan made sure a small gift-wrapped package was tucked into her messenger back before they drove to Christine's tiny office in Dale Hall Tower. Since it was tucked away in a vacant Anthropology Department utility closet, she knew her daughter would never expect their arrival. The only faculty member alerted was Dr. Kermyt Anderson, with whom she had once consulted on Mississippian burial customs. He was delighted to hear from Dr. Brennan, insisted his wife would prepare dinner sometime during their stay, and informed Temperance that her daughter was making a real contribution to OU's anthropological and archaeological research.

Dale Hall Tower, a nine-story 1960's building, had its original elevators which were well-maintained but not particularly fast. The group of surprise visitors filled up a car which labored its way to the top floor. They filed out quietly in search of Room 522M, which Dr. Anderson had jokingly told Brennan stood for 'miniscule'. Its door, with a window of textured glass, was closed, but they could make out a person bent over a desk, staring at a monitor, typing away. Before knocking discreetly, Booth insisted on being the first in line, the rest of the group standing along the wall out of sight.

"Come in," Christine sighed. She was having difficulty reading a poorly-copied microfiche slide of faunal data.

Booth opened the door slowly and peeked around its wooden edge, waiting for her to look up.

"Daddy?!"

"What are you doing here?" she gasped.

Flinging the door wide open, he engulfed his daughter in a bear hug she'd very much missed, as the rest of the Jeffersonian crew crowded into her tiny office.

Christine stared at them, speechless.

"Merry Christmas, honey," Brennan smiled.

Bbbbbbbbbbb

Later than evening, welcomed by her housemates who gladly went after pizza that Booth offered to pay for, Christine sat with her family in the small front room she had helped furnish from Craigslist and Facebook Marketplace. A comfortable sofa and chairs, draped with various throws; several scratched but sturdy side tables and a marble-topped coffee table were grouped for conversation. A wooden table and mismatched chairs stood nearby for mealtimes. An artificial Christmas tree worthy of Charlie Brown held a few strands of lights, but few ornaments. A red and green plaid tea towel served as the skirt. The kitchen cabinets reached the ceiling, marbled lineoleum covered the floor and a stacked washer/dryer unit squeezed alongside the refrigerator protruded a few inches into the hallway.

Three small bedrooms each contained a bed, dresser, and desk piled high with books. Her two housemates, Casey and Brian, were pharmacy and dental graduate students. A doorway between Brian's room and the dining area was walled off by a tall bookcase, as an additional door gave access to Casey's room. The offset to this lack of wall space was the largest closet in the 900 square-foot house. A compact but complete bathroom and enclosed back porch completed the little place. In back, an overgrown but charming gazebo and dilapidated detached garage backed up to the alley. The single car driveway consisted of two narrow concrete strips separated by a grassy median, reminiscent of grandparents' homes for the older adults.

Brennan pulled the small lumpy package from her bag and handed it to Christine.

"Here's a little something from your dad and me to add to your tree," she said softly.

Christine looked at her, tears gathering. Tearing it open, she found a miniature Sooner Schooner and an oval lucite disk engraved with the Oklahoma Capitol, an oil derrick in front. Each had a narrow loop of red satin ribbon at the top. She hugged her parents, then stood to place her Oklahoma mementos on the tree.

"I can't believe you are all here!" she exclaimed, wiping her eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

Within the Cold Mid-Winter

Booth sat in the hospital waiting room as he had many times in the past. Hunched over, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, eyes closed. At 3:30 am, he had no company in the small seating area, no one to notice the slight movement of his lips. He would've sought out the chapel, if not for the unpredictable nature of the mission that had roused him from bed in the middle of the night.

Dressing quickly, he and Brennan had jumped into their car and driven through the bitter, windy darkness. On the way, they shared memories of arguing with an innkeeper more concerned about his wine tasting than imminent childbirth, and the small shed where Christine had entered the world.

"Leave it to our daughter to continue her flair for the dramatic," Booth had sighed. "She picks the coldest damn night of this winter to have a baby…at least the day you delivered was warm and sunny, Bones."

Brennan had looked over at her slightly distraught husband, knowing parental anxiety was causing his rant.

With a wry smile, she patted his knee, and replied, "Booth, we are both skilled scientists, but neither I nor Christine can control the timing of childbirth! Inducing labor is sometimes necessary, but a natural delivery was my goal and our daughter shares that desire."

"Well, why in tarnation did they decide it had to be at GWU? Why not Shady Grove Adventist? Driving 50 miles in the middle of the night is sheer lunacy in my book!"

"Booth, stop exaggerating; the hospital is only 16.8 miles from our house, and much closer to Chrissy and Michael's apartment. You know why...Before she retired, Dr. Bannon recommended they deliver at GWU because of their Level I nursery! The baby may not have LCA or any complications, but it's best to be prepared."

"Says the woman who would have given birth in a prison infirmary!" Booth had sputtered.

Their bickering had continued until they pulled into the hospital's front entry, Brennan hopping out and Booth off in search of a parking spot. At 2 am, there was plenty of space.

Due to multiple injuries during their careers, both parents knew the hospital's layout well and the expectant grandfather's long strides and rising pulse carried him down the corridors in record time. Skidding to a halt at the nurses' station, he had barely opened his mouth to speak before spotting Brennan further down the hallway, motioning to him.

"Booth, Michael says she's doing fine so far."

"Can I at least see her for a moment?"

"I think they'll permit that, if you calm down a bit first."

He had slipped into the private labor room, kissed his daughter's forehead, squeezed her hand, and clapped Michael on the shoulder.

"Hang in there, Bud. It will all go fine; this kind of thing has been happening for millennia," Booth had assured him with a smile.

Michael Vincent looked pale but determined. "I'm gonna take care of her, Booth!"

"I know you will, Son, just relax. You've gotta stay calm for Chrissy, ya' know? She's the one doing the heavy lifting."

"I know that; I'm just nervous."

"Aren't we all," Booth had responded, shaking his son-in-law's hand. "Now go help Chrissy get that baby here, man."

With that, he had walked down the corridor, plunked down into a chair he neither felt nor noticed, and began to pray for the safety of his child and hers, glad for the empty solitude of the waiting room.

Bbbbbbbbbbbbbb

At 5 am, Angela arrived, pushing Hodgins' chair in spite of its occupant doing the same. His curly hair stood on end, and she looked more distracted than Booth had ever seen her.

"I can't believe this happened when we were in Richmond," Angela gasped. "I finished my last presentation at 8:30 pm. It's a good thing left the reception early and went on to bed." She had been invited to speak at a symposium on the work of Alphonse Mucha, discussing "Le Pater" his 1899 illustrated volume of The Lord's Prayer, in which each phrase of the ancient prayer was decorated with ornately-scrolled border designs of flowers and Christian symbols. A Czech illustrator, painter, and graphic artist, Mucha was a master of Art Nouveau stylized designs, who produced ornate theatrical posters for Sarah Bernhardt's performances.

Hodgins looked up at Booth. "How are the kids doing?" he asked bluntly.

"Just fine from what I know. Bones has been back and forth checking on them. It seems Michael won't leave her side, even to get the nurse."

"He's worried about the baby's eyesight," Angela interjected.

"I know, that's natural. Same as you guys, I recall. We've just gotta have a little faith, ya' know? Ta tell the truth, I'm glad for some company; I've about run out of prayers to say without boring the Big Man upstairs," Booth replied.

Hodgins chuckled in spite of himself. "Yeah, it's not like we're in control of this process. Gotta be harder on Dr. B and Angie than us; they know what she's going through."

"You've got that right," the artist agreed.

Hurried footsteps sounded nearby. Michael Vincent appeared in the doorway. "He's here! William Henry Hodgins has arrived! Dr. Thompkins says his eyes are perfectly normal!"

Angela hugged her son. "I'm so glad for you, honey," she said softly, kissing his stubby cheek.

Hodgins shook Michael's hand, who engulfed his dad in an embrace, then turned to Booth with a grin from ear to ear.

"Your daughter was a trooper! She had a tough time for a while, but the doc says she's doing fine now, and your grandson is healthy, Booth! He's got quite a set of lungs, and knows how to use them!"

Bbbbbbbbbbbbbbb

Once the four grandparents had peeked in on Christine, and the newest family member, they left the hospital to catch up on some sleep. Driving home as sunrise brightened the sky, Booth looked over at Brennan.

"Chrissy has given us the finest gift she ever could, Bones. A healthy new grandchild born a week before Christmas; what better present could we receive? Better than any ornament made, though I'm sure gonna to find one to engrave with his name and hang on our tree!"

"Sorry if I was a little melodramatic on the way here, Bones," he continued.

"I was nervous too, Booth, but Christine did exactly what was required tonight; not that she had much control over the timing. She and Michael worked together, just as we did, and he was a great support and comfort to her. He might have been worried, but you'd never have known it. Acted calm as a squash throughout the birth process."

"Calm as a cucumber, Bones," Booth told her, then stopped.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?"


	11. Chapter 11

Babysitting the Munchkins

Neither Booth nor Brennan could remember when they'd been so exhausted this early in the evening. Christine's twins had given them a run for their money all day. At age three, Maggie and Max were barely out of toddlerhood, but the speed with which they raced around the house belied their young age. Named for Booth's beloved Grams and Brennan's unforgettable father, the children lived up to their namesakes' tireless reputations. The benefit of their active day was that both grandparents and grandkids slept soundly all night. Only four days to go til Chris and Michael returned.

The agent had so many memories of Grams cooking delicious dinners, keeping her two story basemented house as spotless as two sloppy grandsons would allow, scolding them all the while to pick up after themselves, and volunteering countless hours at the church, all the while cooking tasty lunches for St. Anthony's grade schoolers five days a week. Max was endlessly curious, constantly peppering Brennan with 'why' and 'how' questions as he followed her around like a Bassett hound puppy. The dog's long ears would drag the floor in much the same way Max's blankie did.

The couple's energetic grandchildren had been visiting for a week. Angela had suggested she and Hodgins take little Max to stay with their older brother William, but this arrangement only lasted one night. No one got any sleep in either household until the 'M & M's" finally cried themselves out at 3 am. Inseparable at pre-school and upset by their mother's absence, the twins were easier to handle as a package deal.

Hodgins reminded Brennan and Angela of when he had mounted a car seat atop his tornado simulator when baby Michael Vincent kept them up all night. And so, the two sets of loving but tired grandparents had decided to cope by trading off. Taking care of eight-year old William was a cinch by comparison to his whirlwind younger siblings.

The reason for these extended sleepovers with Grammy and Pops, Grangie and Grogg was Christine's and Michael's tenth anniversary on December 30th. When Christopher Pelant's armed drone forced Hodgins to choose between his money and saving Afghani schoolgirls, most of his assets had been lost. But having paid cash for Angela's Paris apartment when Brennan fled to Maluku, the bug man was able to keep it and still took his wife there periodically.

Booth and Brennan, Angela and Hodgins had gone together to purchase airline tickets for their kids and sent them off for a romantic anniversary week in France. The unchangeable flight dates precluded them returning early, and they also needed the break. There was no way the grandfolks were going to ruin their trip with tales of childish energy, and they soldiered on.

Calmer than the twins, William adored his Uncle Parker, and loved hearing stories about the lab 'back when'. He was also fascinated by all the ornaments bedecking his grandparents' very different Christmas trees. Hodgins' and Angela's was mostly covered with her creations, and keepsakes from travels. Booth's and Brennan's displayed worn baubles heirlooms from past generations he wished he could have met.

Each also sported paper trees and such drawn when his parents were young, and similar objects he and the twins had created. Each year he helped undecorated the Christmas trees in return for hearing the history behind the objects being removed from green branches and packed away. He could've listened for hours about Hank and Grams, Jared and Shrimp, Tempe and Russ, and Ripley.

Brennan was thrilled when William had named his new Australian Shepherd puppy Rip. Since the breed requires lots of exercise to curtail their innate curiosity and herding instinct, boy and dog spent hours roaming Hodgins' estate and the woods behind Booth and Brennan's house. Teaching Rip to catch a ball in mid-air hadn't gone so well, but William trained the dog to retrieve items for Hodgins, open door knobs, turn off lights, and lie quietly beside his grandfather's wheelchair in the bug lab as the pair fed his corn snake. Christine insisted the reptile stay at her father-in-law's place after the twins had felt sorry for Corny and turned him loose in her house. Michael understood his kids' good motivation, but explained that Mommy, like Grammy and OomaA, didn't share their love for the colorful creature.

Several days later, Michael and Christine's plane landed and the whole family headed to the airport to meet them. Refreshed by the wonders of the French countryside and Paris, the young couple were grateful for their parents' generosity and happy to hug their exuberant children.

"New Year's Eve in Chartres was amazing. Seeing the sunset from the parapets during our tour of the roofline and towers, and its supportive nave architecture is amazing. We got to see the back side of stained glass window as well," Michael told them on the drive back from Dulles. "Those 200 spiral steps, and the labyrinth made me dizzy."

"I really enjoyed our day trip to Giverny where Monet's family lived for four decades. Angela, you were right about appreciating the genius of his art more deeply by seeing their home and village. Paris was wonderful too, but seeing the countryside was my favorite experience," Christine added.

"We're both glad to be home, but thank you for the trip of a lifetime, Mom and Dad, Angela and Uncle Bugs," she said softly. After many hugs and hunting for lost possessions, they were ready to the family climbed into Michael's SUV to return home, Maggie piped up.

"Mommy, why do you call Grandpa Uncle Bugs?"

"That's a long story for another day, Little Miss. It's time for us to get you three home to bed and sleep!"


	12. Chapter 12

BB Parker's Return

Booth and Brennan were thrilled by the contents of Parker's latest letter. The young man had been asked to assist in producing a documentary about Billy Gibbon's musical career and colorful life. The old ZZ Top guitarist, retired in Austin, Texas and still kicking, taught guitar classes at the city's elementary schools. He also played small programs to entertain nursing home residents. One of which, he was most assuredly not, Angela had told them with a knowing laugh.

Her father was being inducted into Cleveland's Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and the film was to be shown during the next Ohio induction ceremony before airing in Nashville theaters during the summer tourist season. Parker's interest in music, art, and computers had merged into a successful graphics design career and he counted many singers and musicians among his clientele.

Now that all the filming had been completed, he needed a quiet place for editing. The board of directors in Nashville wanted their documentary kept a secret until the inductees were revealed, and this was hard to accomplish in an entertainment city. So Parker was coming home to DC in search of a location where he could work in peace. To celebrate their two year anniversary, Aubrey and Jessica were taking a six-month leave of absence from the nation's capital; combining work with pleasure, as the agent was auditing FBI field offices and his scientist was delivering a lecture series in the same cities. Thus the Mighty Hut would be vacant, and a perfect place for Parker's project.

In the course of packing for their extended absence, Aubrey was boxing up his personal belongings, but leaving the furniture for Parker's use. Once they returned to DC, he and Jessica hoped to purchase the home from Booth and Brennan. He realized wryly that his wife was a minimalist when it came to sentimental things. While clearing a book case in Brennan's old office, the lanky agent had come across several childish drawings and clay figurines displayed in picture frames amid the Star Wars DVDs, science fiction novels, and criminology textbooks. During Christine's childhood, after Sweets' tragic demise, he had babysat the Booth children numerous times, and the little girl had been quite an artist. A Santa Claus with his sleigh and reindeer was Aubrey's favorite among Christine's little gifts to him. He carefully wrapped and boxed up the other keepsakes to protect them during his absence. Taping a label to each lid, he left them on the highest walnut bookshelf. But he left Santa Claus in plain sight.

When Parker boarded the plane for the nation's capital and settled in his seat, he requested a Sprite and inserted his ear buds, intending to select one of Billy's tracks he'd recorded as background music for the film's title sequence. But try as he might to concentrate on the music, he was soon lost in thought, remembering the amazing times he'd been privileged to spend with Angela's father. Giving in to his memories, Parker closed his eyes and let the music carry him back. The once concrete decision he made before landing at Dulles was choosing Bones' office as his workplace. The room could be securely locked to protect the expensive equipment his project required.

Exiting the air bridge, Parker smiled to himself. Coming home to DC never got old. He thanked the flight attendant and strode down the long hallway toward the baggage carousel. Normally he packed very light when he traveled, using only a carry-on bag, but he needed seasonal clothing for the coming months, and had checked two pieces of luggage. Thankfully, his projection and editing gear was being shipped to Washington instead.

Mentally reviewing what he'd need to do first, he didn't notice a boisterous group of people waiting in the baggage dispersal area and walked right past them toward the stainless steel conveyor belt, watching for his bag.

"Parker!"

"Bub!"

"Welcome home, Baby Booth!"

Feeling a large hand on his shoulder, the young man turned around, suddenly engulfed in a Boothy bear hug by his father. Brennan approached more gently, smiling broadly at him. Angela and Hodgins watched happily. Christine and Hank wore identical expressions of irritation that their older brother hadn't noticed the colorful sign they were holding. Shaking their heads, they let it slide to the floor as they hugged him.

"Dude, we spent all that time, and you didn't even look at it!" Hank complained as he grabbed a black suitcase from the carousel.

"You're a foot taller than last July!" Parker informed him with a handshake.

Then everyone was talking at once as the family headed to the SUV, bound for Texas Roadhouse.

Several hours later, the big black truck swung into the familiar driveway. Booth eyed the well-trimmed lawn and shrubbery. Brennan noticed the trees' growth. Hank piled out of the back seat and helped carry Parker's bags to the front porch. As their father unlocked the door and handed Parker the key, Christine walked up the steps more slowly, Parker's carry-on slung over her shoulder. Brennan watched her daughter carefully, then spoke softly.

"It's the same, but it isn't, right? Different than when we've visited Aubrey and Jessica. You weren't very old, but you remember this place."

"Just feels funny," Christine replied. "Funny odd, not funny ha ha."

"I know, honey, but that's all way in the past. Let's just go get your brother settled," her mother suggested with a hug.

From across the room, Booth looked at his wife questioningly. She nodded to him without a word. Their daughter would be alright. Having already stocked the refrigerator and cabinets with Parker's favorite foods, Brennan found herself lifted off her feet and swung around.

"Bones, you are the best!" Parker crowed.

"Nutella, oat nut bread, crunchy peanut butter, queso chips and salsa! You even got me Lucky Charms!"

"Just don't gorge yourself on junk food, please. It's still not healthy for you," she replied primly.

"Yes, m'am! I'll remember. You sound just like Mom!"

Christine opened a drawer near the dishwasher. "There's silverware here," she commented in surprise.

"Honey, Aubrey and Ms. Warren only packed up their clothing and personal belongings. They left the rest for Parker's use over the next six months. No point doing otherwise for such a short time."

"Christine, would you open the blinds in the office, please?" Brennan asked. "I want to make sure they are still functional and light-blocking, so Parker's film is protected."

"Sure, Mom," Christine replied and headed through the living room. She opened the double French doors and sighed, remembering coloring sessions with Sweets and reading books with the lanky agent who'd tried to fill the void after his death. Crossing the room, she parted the drapes and turned the rod which opened wide vertical blinds. Aubrey's criminology journals and science fiction book collection filled some shelves, but others nearest the desk had obviously been cleared for Parker's use.

Sitting down in the comfortable high-backed leather chair, Christine leaned back and blinked back a few tears, not wanting to spoil her brother's homecoming. She sat still a few minutes, breathing deeply; then resolutely placed her palms on the desk's smooth wood surface and stood up. A colorful knickknack among the books suddenly caught her eye, eliciting a broad smile.

"Mom, c'mere!" she called happily.

Brennan came out of the kitchen, and hurried to her old office, a questioning look on her face.

"Look!" Christine exclaimed, pointing at the shelf behind the desk.

"Aubrey has kept your clay Santa Claus all these years," her mother commented softly. "That man is as sentimental as your father. But what a sweet thing to do, so you children would find it."

Christine smiled again through a few more tears. "He helped fill the empty spot Uncle Sweets left. I must have bored him to tears, insisting he color with me, play tea party, and fiddle with clay."

"To the contrary, Chrissy, Agent Aubrey is a big kid at heart. And playing with you when he babysat helped me and endeared him to your father at a time when Booth was finding it tough to trust anyone at the Bureau."

"I never realized that but he surely made me happy," Christine said.

"And it meant a lot to me as well. Now let's get back out there before your father rearranges all the furniture upstairs," Brennan replied briskly, as they heard a chair being scooted across the floor over their heads.

Parker stuck his head in the door just then. "Gosh, this place brings back good memories, Bones! Watching movies with you guys when I got to come home from the UK; spending weekends and summer breaks here. I'm really going to enjoy the next six months!"


End file.
